Further up, further in, and running wild

I received sad news in an email recently: Clark Pinnock is suffering from Alzheimer’s disease.

Clark sent John Sanders and me the following note:

Dear Tom and John:

I want to inform you that I am now middle stage Alzheimer’s. I will not be able to do my writing etc. I am 73 years now, and I’ve enjoyed my biblical three score and ten. I am not bitter. I have had a good life. I’ll meet you over Jordan if not before.

You are free to make this news known.

With love,

Clark

via Pinnock, Alzheimer’s, and Open Theology · For The Love of Wisdom and The Wisdom of Love · Thomas Jay Oord

I feel like I’ve been flooded out with bad news about people I love and respect, people who have helped make me who I am today. Intellectually, I know that it isn’t about me and that I’m one of the least affected. But in my soul, this is really hurting a great deal.

First it was the Jollyblogger, David Wayne. Then I was just getting to know Matt Chandler, and he was stricken with cancer. Then the worst blow, Michael Spencer. I just found out last evening that Michael and his family have decided to cease treatment and engage the help of hospice.

Now today, I found out that Clark Pinnock is suffering from Alzheimer’s. This is devastating. His work is over. I’ve seen in my own family how this terrible disease is, in some ways, worse than dying.

But the common thread in these four pieces of bad news is this: each one of these men knows Jesus and intend to live with him forever. It is my hope to spend some time with each of them “over Jordan”, when their minds and bodies are right again, and to tell them how much I appreciated how they lived and how they died.

For some reason, I am thinking and feeling bad about the way I treated my adolescent pen pal.

For you youngsters out there, pen pals constituted the Facebook of my youth. Our internet was with pen and paper and envelopes and airmail stamps. It took longer than today’s internet. But that was the technology we had available to us.

Anyway, I had a pen pal when I was somewhere in the 12-15 age bracket. My pen pal was a girl from Sweden. Her name was Monica Tapper. She lived in Soldatvagen, if memory serves. She was my age.

Now, about that time in my life I had a super big crush on a Swedish-American actress named Inger Stevens. The Farmer’s Daughter. She was everything an adolescent boy wanted in a woman. I mean, everything. She was the prototypical Swedish blond. Absolutely perfect. It is undoubtedly true that I chose a pen pal from Sweden based on my infatuation with Inger Stevens. It is also undoubtedly true that I had Inger Stevens in my adolescent mind when I wrote and read letters from Monica Tapper. There were several letters back and forth.

Then, Monica Tapper sent me a picture of herself.

Monica Tapper was a beautiful young lady in her own right, but I cannot tell you the depth of my disappointment. Monica Tapper was not blond. Nor did she look in any other way like Inger Stevens. In fact, Monica Tapper looked like a typical American girl, one who could have been in my own class at school. For me, the thrill was gone. I believe I sent one more letter and enclosed my school picture. Neither of us ever wrote again. I suppose Monica Tapper experienced the same letdown that I had experienced.

I was thinking about Monica Tapper this morning. I was lamenting that I did not continue the conversation. My adolescent mind was incapable of looking at the bigger picture and realizing that a friend far away is a valuable thing, to be nurtured. And I was hoping that I did not hurt Monica Tapper’s feelings. Adolescent girls can get their feelings hurt, I understand.

Monica Tapper, if you are out there and happen to stumble across this little post, please accept my apologies. I was a young cretin. There is no excuse.I have not googled your name to try to find you, but perhaps I should.

Today I have friends around the world, friend I have never met. What once was wondrous is now commonplace. I remember the wonder of talking to someone on the other side of the world in real time for the very first time. Now I do it every day and think nothing of it. I would like to reclaim the wonder.

Pen pals are kind of cool, aren’t they?

We spent much of the weekend with friends. Friends make the world go round.

Friday evening we were joined at our customary Mexican restaurant by two of our dearest friends. The topic of conversation wasn’t necessarily a pleasant way to start the weekend, but you won’t find better people to spend time with on the face of the earth.

Saturday we had the leadership team from our Bible study group come over for lunch and a planning session. We spent a very pleasant two-and-a-half hours together, eating and talking and laughing. And we actually accomplished something, too.

Saturday evening we met some other friends at Bob Evans for a chat. And food. Sometimes these kind of get-togethers  are beneficial to one couple or the other. This time we all benefited.

Sunday we had three young families over to our house for dinner.  Carol did a good job with dinner, but the real point was the conversation and the Farkle. I have a real appreciation for the pressure experienced by young families. There are so many competing priorities. I love spending time with young folks who have done a good job establishing their priorities.

Bonding with friends is the essence of the good life.

St. Louis October 2008

I’m sure you won’t care to watch the whole thing unless you were there. I guess you can if you want to, though.

Brother Maynard shares about his depression: I Get By With A Little Help…

He is joining a string of bloggers who are making similar revelations — Brant Hansen, RLP, Jason Clark … and, if may humbly add my name to such an illustrious and exalted group of guys, myself.

I don’t wish the condition or the recovery process on anyone, but somehow, it’s good to know I’m not alone.

God bless you, brother.

Remember my friend, Jorge?

Today he sent me a pic of his family. Beautiful. Especially the girls. It’s fantastic that Hannah takes after Maria and not Jorge.

Jorge is from Costa Rica. Maria is from Honduras. Let’s see. That makes the kids … American. Just like Jorge and Maria.